Ai De Hong Sheng
by Hoshi-Zuuri
Summary: A story written for one of my close friends, fem!China and normal!Thai pairing, not crack. Rated M just to be safe and for dodgy mentions of intimate acts in later chapters. AU, human names used, but you can figure out who is who.


**A/N:** This story was written for my China. When she first started into the APH fandom, she didn't like yaoi. So when she started going out with our Thailand, she requested fem!ChinaThai stories, and the pairing stuck. Please note that I didn't actually inted for the story to turn out so... Sensual... it simply wrote itself this way.

* * *

Wang Yian lay on sleeping on the couch, a plate with the remnants of her 23rd birthday cake precariously balanced on her stomach. The plate rose and fell softly to her breathing, each time the fork sliding a little closer to the edge of the plate.

Yian rolled over in her sleep, sending plate, fork, and cake onto the floor with a loud metallic clatter and a rather moist thud. She woke up with a start, groaning at the mess she had made. She really didn't feel like cleaning up now.

Yian's 23rd birthday party, three days after the actual birth date, had been around two weeks ago. The whole family had attended, which meant nobody's parents and all the extended family you could ever want or need. There was her cousin Honda Kiku, whom she rather liked, and her cousin Im Yong Soo, whom she didn't. There was her half-brother Jin, her adopted sister and Jin's girlfriend Mei, her half-cousin Nguyễn Hụê from Vietnam, her half-cousin Kalsang Jinpa who was Tibetan but lived in India, her other half-cousin Manzhouli Batukhan from Mongolia, and then… Ty Kasem, who was related to her somehow… He lived in Thailand. Yong Soo's twin sister Soo Yun had also been there, Yian belatedly remembered.

Yian stood up, stretching sore muscles that hadn't been sore when she'd fallen asleep. Picking up plate, fork, and as much of the cake as she could, the Chinese woman wandered into the kitchen pondering on her plight. This, as usual, took the form of a person. This time it wasn't little Kiku, whom she had practically raised herself, or Yong Soo, whom she had only partially raised. This time it was someone a little farther away from her home.

Kasem.

Yian couldn't remember how they were related, yet related they were. And yet, and yet, she found feelings for him far deeper and stronger than casual friendship flowering in her soul. (Yian decided to let the cake dry before trying to vacuum it up, and if that ruined the carpet, well then, she'd deal with that when it happened.) At first she had been horrified at herself, then ashamed, and had tried to suppress the feelings. But that only led to dreams she'd rather not think about and an odd twisting in her stomach whenever she thought about the man.

He was several years her senior, by how much Yian wasn't sure. She only knew that he was somewhere between the ages twenty-six and thirty. Which only added to her guilt, however much Yian reminded herself of the couple she knew with a seventeen-year age difference. And yet no matter how much she felt guilty, there was that strange attraction to him, that obsession that made her catch her breath whenever she saw him, made her stomach churn whenever he looked her in the eyes, made her heart stop beating for eternity whenever he smiled at her.

Yet it was the same smile that drove shards of glass into her, pain stabbing through her chest with every breath she took. The same smile that caused her to weep bitterly in her bed at night, for it was a smile she could never hope to call hers. The smile that tantalized her, the fruit hanging above her head that she just couldn't reach to satisfy her hunger, the river water she was standing in that she just couldn't reach to quench her thirst. For it was not a smile _for_ her, it was a smile _at_ her, and that pained her more than the phantasmal images her sleeping mind could conjure and whisk away.

Sighing, Yian silently cursed the man, cursed the way he made her feel, cursed at the heat that sometimes crept into her body at the thought of his voice tickling in her ear, or gentle caresses made by his delicate hands, the heat that left her body trembling like a leaf in the wind and left her feeling more and more unsatisfied as the seconds wore by. She cursed the way he walked, that slight swagger in his steps that made her eyes travel over every inch of his body, wanting to feel his warm, soft flesh pressed up against hers.

No matter how much she wanted to deny it, Yian knew that her feelings had gone past love. She _lusted_ for Kasem, longed for him, wanted to be his forever, forever, to feel his lips against parts of her that were not polite to mention in public.

And he continued on, oblivious for her feelings, every visit sinking Yian just a little deeper into the cloud of misery and sorrow that surrounded her when no one else was there.

* * *

_Desire is _poison.

_Mahabharata

* * *

_

She lay in her bed, body trembling with desire. She longed to feel his touch, exploring her body, touching it in places that she had never let anyone else touch before. She sought for release from the passions, her fingers darting, sweeping, causing tears to leap to the corners of her eyes. The release she sought did not come, merely, the desire grew less and less until it faded away entirely, leaving only an empty shell, and her quiet sobs. She was a wretched, wretched being, and she disgusted herself.

Her sobs were her lullaby as the stars wheeled and turned in the night sky above.

* * *

_Thou art to me a delicious torment._

_Ralph Waldo Emerson

* * *

_

The morning dawned bright, clear, and cold. Painfully cold. It was the kind of cold that bit at your exposed skin and tore at your throat as it was sucked down into your aching lungs.

It shouldn't be this cold, especially not with a thermostat. Yet the cold was there—it bit and tore with needle-sharp teeth. Yian huddled under the down covers, wondering why the cold had come. Wondering if perhaps a body beside her might banish the fearsome cold away. Wondering.

* * *

_You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul._

_Julie-Jeanne-Eléonore de Lespinasse

* * *

_

The cake vacuumed up easily.

* * *

_Longing chains me._

_Indian love song

* * *

_

The phone rang halfway through Yian's evening meal. She picked it up sullenly, not wanting to deal with whoever was at the other end of the line. Her half-dreams from last night still haunted her at the edge of her consciousness.

"Hello?"

"…Hello…?"

It was Kasem.

Yian found she had stopped breathing.

"…I have a bit of a strange request…"

"…Yes…?"

"…Well… I was wondering if I could come see you… Perhaps Saturday…?"

Yian's heart had stopped beating. It all her mental power to answer him.

"…Yes… Please do…"

"…Thank you…"

The phone line went dead. Yian gently placed the phone back in its cradle before slumping to the floor, whimpering as she felt the _desire_ coursing though her veins. Yian cried out in her room, cried out for help and release from her passions, cried out when she knew no one would ever hear to come and help her.

Kasem was coming. To her house. Soon.

Yian dimly wondered if she could control herself when he did.

* * *

Ai De Hong Sheng- Love's Red String


End file.
